WARNING! This story does contain violence. None of the violence is sexual and all of the sex is consensual, but if violence really disturbs you, please don't read this story.
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Chapter 1
No one really knows how old our Earth is. Who really knows if the Earth is 4 billion years old or 10 trillion years old? For centuries, scientists have proclaimed their theories to be facts, only to be proven wrong by subsequent generations. Does the vanity of present scientists allow them to think that their theories won't be disproved in 100 or even only 20 years?
Modern historians tell us that the first great civilizations of the world originated a mere 4000 years ago. They are wrong. Although no structures exist from the first dawn of civilization, man possessed great cities, science and medicine nearly half a million years before the Egyptians started building their first pyramid.
Many of the legends of ancient Greece and Rome were exaggerations, but had basis in fact. The stories were embellished over the millennia as all stories are. After the stories were told thousands of times, warriors that excelled in battle became heroes that could kill one hundred men in a day. An army known for their ferocity became "Titans" and great kings and queens became the gods and goddesses of Olympus.
This is a story of that time. The legend of Atlantis was based on a kingdom that existed long before the ice age. Atlantis was a wealthy and powerful nation ruled by a benevolent king. He was a wise king, a man of science and knowledge. Atlantis' power was ensured by superior technology. The king sold the fruits of this technology to the rest of the world, but jealously guarded its secrets.
All nations were forced to trade with Atlantis, since Atlantis alone could manufacture the iron and bronze weapons to ensure their protection from invaders and the medicine to protect their citizens from disease. The king was wise enough not to try to rule the world by force, but was clearly the most powerful man in the world, because he controlled the world's wealth.
This is not the story of Atlantis, but the story of one man. He was not born in Atlantis, but a hundred miles away, in no kingdom or village, but in a tent a few yards away from one of the many roads to Atlantis.
The boy's mother died just a few hours after his birth, leaving his father to care for him. His father, a soldier for hire, knew he could not care for the boy alone, so he set out for the next village.
He felt great sorrow over the death of his wife and felt equally bad for his unnamed son. Without milk, his son would starve to death in just a few hours. He prayed that there would be a woman in the village that was willing to be his infant son's wet nurse, or at least a goat for milking.
He walked for half a day, seeing not a soul until he ambushed by bandits. There were four of them and even without a child to protect, he knew he was not likely to survive against these odds.
A warrior lives by his wits as well as his sword, and he quickly made several decisions and formed a plan of action. He knew he couldn't let go of his son, because the bandits would surely use him as a hostage. He ran to the trees and dropped his pack on the way. With a little luck the bandits would settle for his belongings and no blood would be shed here today.
He was not so lucky. The bandits ignored his pack and pursued him. When the warrior reached a thicket he drew his sword and turned to face them. At least this way, they couldn't attack him from behind. He realized that the bandits wanted his sword and his armor. They were more valuable than the few gold coins and the food in his pack. He also knew that he wouldn't survive long without them, so he had to stand and fight.
His iron sword was far superior to the bronze, wood and stone weapons of the bandits. He certainly could have defeated one or two of them, but four could overwhelm him. His plan was to find the right moment to charge them and try to kill the largest one quickly. Perhaps this would frighten the others off.
Again, luck was not with him today. The bandits did not continue their charge, but slowed and fanned out, trapping him against the thicket and giving him no opportunity for a surprise attack. He knew now that this was his day to die, but he was determined to take one of the bandits with him. He quickly, and as gently as he could, lowered his son to the ground next to him and pulled his long dagger with his left hand.
With a blade in each hand, and the bandits being lightly armored, he knew he could kill one of them. He had decided on which one to kill and which combination of dagger thrust and sword stroke to use. Either would kill the cursed bastard. His hoped that the sword would be parried and the dagger would find its way into the bandit's stomach. That way he would suffer, perhaps for days, before he died. But die he would.
The bandits moved closer and the warrior hoped that they would kill his son also. It was not a cruel thought, but a merciful one. He feared they would try to keep the boy alive to sell him into slavery. This would only prolong the child's suffering, as death was inevitable if he were not fed soon.
The warrior's intended target was one pace away from his intended fate. The warrior anticipated that he would be struck in the legs by a stone axe and bronze sword immediately after wounding his target. If he were allowed any good fortune today, one of the bandits would strike him in the head instead, killing him quickly. A trained warrior would go for the easier target of the legs, but these bandits may not. Even an ignorant bandit would know that their weapons wouldn't pierce the iron plates he wore over his torso.
The bandits stopped. The warrior waited for the last pace that would start and finish the battle in just a few seconds. Then his luck finally changed.
He heard the distinct sound of a bowstring being released, the low soft whistle of an arrow in flight and thud of the arrow finding its mark. The bandit the warrior intended to kill, was killed instantly as an arrow entered his face.
Before the arrow arrived, the warrior heard another bowstring released and another bandit had an arrow hit him in the stomach and pass completely through him. The bandit put his hands over the new hole in his midsection, took a few steps then fell forward as he took his last breath. The two remaining bandits turned and fled, but didn't get far. From the brush emerged a man and a woman.
The warrior didn't see them until the bandits were within striking distance. The powerful looking man nearly sliced one bandit in half with an iron sword and the woman struck the other bandit across the knees with the wooden shaft of an iron tipped spear.
The surviving bandit lay on the ground, moaning. He was conscious, but clearly in great pain. One of his knees bent in an unnatural position. He had dropped his sword when he fell and now he had the woman's razor sharp spear point pressed against the hollow of his throat.
The warrior stood motionless, stunned at the speed of the attack. He kept his weapons at the ready, unsure of what was to happen next. He heard a woman's voice from the trees behind him.
"Put your weapons away, Warrior. We will not kill you today."
He did not put his weapons away, but instead tried to locate the source of the voice. He noticed that two more women had emerged from the trees in front of him.
"Put your weapons away! If we intended to harm you, you would already be on the ground bleeding with the others."
The warrior, realizing the truth of this statement, sheathed his blades and picked up his son. Four more women emerged from the trees behind him. All four carried bows and short swords.
The women were tall and dressed in skins and cloth that were the combinations of gray, brown and the dull green of the forest. Their bows were as fine as he had ever seen and surprisingly stout for bows used by women. He wouldn't have thought that a woman would have the strength for such a bow.
His attention turned the lone man in the group. He was dressed similarly, but his chest was impossibly deep. He surely had some armor under the outer garments. None of the women wore armor.
The apparent leader of the group was a raven-haired woman. She stepped over to the surviving bandit.
